


Protect You

by crossroadrain



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Anal Sex, BAMF John Watson, Ballet Dancer Sherlock, Blow Jobs, Homophobic Language, M/M, Mostly Pwp, Physical Abuse, Protective John, Rugby, ballet!lock, rugby!john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 07:19:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3887275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossroadrain/pseuds/crossroadrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Please,” Sherlock murmured and his hands clenched on the soft hair on the back of John’s head. “Take me, please,” it was desperate and weak and there John stood shaking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protect You

The noise was coming from the yard. Loud, brisk yells and whelps over the sound of heavy feet kicking and stumping on the ground. John’s fruitless try to sleep found him bleary eyed and grumpy in his bed on the fifth floor of the dormitory. He was too wound up and tired not to get up and see what was going on. God forbid it was one of his, he already had told them times and times over not to get involved in anything dirty. This wasn’t the image he wanted for the team. It wasn’t the name he wanted for his teammates or himself.

He went to the window at opened it widely so he could lean half his body over the edge. He looked around the open area of the yard. It was impossible to miss the commotion and he wasn’t the only viewer of the spectacle. All over the campus windows were open and head and bodies hung out their windows watching in rapt attention as the small figures in the yard moved rapidly and swiftly and harsh voices flew and grew stronger and angrier.

John knew what was happening the moment he saw the way the bodies moved. These were his boys, at least the two of the four. Anderson, he recognized, and the other body maybe Cam. Yes, definitely the two of them and with their brain-washed idiots of friends.

John squeezed his eyes, focusing on the body Anderson and one of the boys John didn’t recognized were holding. He had a fair idea who it may be but the hoped with all his heart he wasn’t right. Cam was throwing punches in his gut and crotch and kicking in his legs. The body swung, lean and long and gracefully swinging on the ground where the two much bigger boys held him against his will.

He guessed who the victim was. For his four months in the school he had heard of things like this happening to one particular person. A ballet dancer and a violin player they said, but that wasn’t the most amazing thing about him. About Sherlock Holmes, John smiled to himself.

The best, most amazing and brilliant thing about this pure miracle of the human race, was his razor-sharp mouth and lighting-fast brain. John could listen to him talk all day every day. He could stand there, being stripped of his story, of his fears, and wishes, and secrets and he’d do it gladly as long as Sherlock Holmes was the one doing the stripping.

He looked down, licking his lips. It was many nights Sherlock Holmes was the one doing the stripping, in his mind only, that was, but he still savored his dirty little secret and hoped one day for Sherlock to look at him with his blue-green inhuman eyes and _see_ and _want_.

Sherlock whimpered and screamed and John was shot out of his idiotic thought. He was supposed to be helping Sherlock now, not vulgarizing him in his thoughts. The fight was getting worse though and as far as John knew the Headmaster was away tonight and the yard wasn’t under surveillance.

And with a start he realized, he didn’t matter. He didn’t care if they were watching or what were they going to do. He had to help.

He turned from his window and ran out of the room. Down the stairs and out of the dormitory, he was on the yard in under a minute. The whole fight was not far away and he ran for dear life, hoping he didn’t come too late.

He ran and ran and ran and the next thing he knew, there he was standing, just behind them and threw himself over one of the boys he didn’t quite recognize, using him to support his body and kick Cam in the face. The boy fell back, soon followed by his friend and after that Anderson and the other one, who John recognized as Marcus Fin, an old friend of Cam, and hopeful for the rugby team, stepped back, letting the bloody, barely conscious body fall to the ground as they stepped back, hands to their chests and utter fear, distorting Anderson’s face.

“It’s not what it looks like, Cap,” Anderson whined and looked pleadingly in John’s eyes. “He was talking shit about Jasmine and me, and then all the idiotic shit on Sally. I was just… we were…”

John growled and stepped closer, getting over Cam and crouching to Sherlock. He was barely moving, hiding his head under his palms and crumbled on the tightest ball he could manage without whining in pain.

“I don’t want to hear it, Fillip,” he cut the next rant before it even started. He put a gentle hand over Sherlock’s shoulder. He looked at Anderson who worriedly followed his movements as if he was expecting being attacked any moment now. “You two, take care of them,” John kicked the boy he didn’t recognize and then moved his eyes on Cam, “Tomorrow I want to have a talk with you and Cam,” he stated, not bothering to look back to Anderson. “As always, I am the one to take care of your messes but it won’t be that for much long.”

***

Sherlock moved around in his arms, squirming lightly to find a pose that didn’t hurt too much. His hand climbed along John’s arm and shoulder to his neck and face. He pulled him down, dragging him closer as he weakly pushed up to meet John halfway. John’s breath washed over his face, ragged and heavy, his face reddened in the sudden closeness, and Sherlock sucked his breath and licked his lips, so close to John’s face he could feel the heat of his skin.

John smiled and closed the gap between them. He touched his lips to Sherlock’s lightly at first, pure little touches until Sherlock curved his mouth and answered. Then it grew. Mouth open, John sucked his lower lip into his mouth and liked and bit and then moved and took Sherlock’s mouth and stopped moving. He just froze there in the middle of the hallway at three in the morning with Sherlock Holmes in his arms, kissing him wildly and desperately and feeling his heartbeat against his chest.

“Please,” Sherlock murmured and his hands clenched on the soft hair on the back of John’s head. “Take me, please,” it was desperate and weak and there John stood shaking.

“I am taking you to safety now, don’t worry,” he murmured and snuggled Sherlock closer to his neck. It was a notch too late for both of them. They were already in bed and John’s fingers clenched around Sherlock, a strong image of his want to continue and forget all that had just happened. He wanted to take Sherlock apart and make him forget his name in the pleasure he could bring him. But it wasn’t right, John felt. He had to take care of Sherlock right now, not take advantage.

As it turned out though, Sherlock saw things differently and maneuvered John closer, bringing one of his hands beneath him and urgently breathing in his neck, pleading to be touched. “No,” the dancer said quietly. “Fuck me.”

John stopped just before his door. He opened it and then walked inside, putting Sherlock down on his bed. As the captain of the rugby team he got to have a room on his own and thank god for that now.

“What do you mean?” He walked to close and lock the door, showing the key to Sherlock so he didn’t feel trapped or scared. “They’ve beating you up pretty badly. I can take care of you. I study to be a doctor.” He said it with pride, hoping for Sherlock to be impressed.

“You know perfectly well what I mean,” he waved it off, trying to crawl the bed and come to John but managing only slightly as his body gave out and he almost fell on his face. Saving his dignity, John sat close enough to help him and gathered him in his arms once more as it seemed there was where Sherlock stood mild and pliant enough.

John smiled and somehow they were kissing once more and Sherlock was all over him and straddling him, hands in his hair and on his back and shoulders and neck and oh god, John’s hands were the small of his back and then his arse and Sherlock was moving and pushing against his palms, kneading the soft skin.

“Please,” Sherlock pleaded again and John felt his hot blood turning ice cold.

“We can’t,” he said softly. “You are hurt; you need rest and someone to take care of you, not someone to take advantage of how vulnerable you are right now.”

“I am not vulnerable,” Sherlock rumbled and pressed his chest against John. “I have this one chance with you, John Watson, and I know you want me _so_ much. Take me now.”

John hummed and liked at Sherlock’s mouth approvingly. “It’s true I want you very, very much, but I want to get to know you, to have you for my own. I don’t want I quick shag when you are hurt.” Sherlock no doubt felt his erection, just as John felt his, but with him acting all so sweet, John’s cock stirred and hardened and he squirmed, accidentally brushing his prick against Sherlock backside. He let out a groan and moved again, trying to adjust himself.

“But I have this one chance with you,” Sherlock murmured again, kissing and sucking at his neck and John let his head fall back with a groan.

Sherlock was a brilliant menace. This whole night went bat shit crazy the moment John first leant closer. He had only dreamed of having Sherlock want him, of having Sherlock only looking at him wantonly, maybe crossing eyes across the hallway, finding their way to a private meeting, tentative and full of Sherlock’s scanting, beautiful eyes assessing and dissecting him. And then he had him in his arms and he was holding him so close and Sherlock wanted to be closer.

Sherlock wanted him. He wanted him for all John could give and his brain barely took it all. He thought that maybe he was dreaming. Maybe it was a projectile of his hungry, desperate brain, longing for the lonely genius. But then Sherlock bit on his clavicle and licked his skin just there and he shivered and knew for sure it was all real. Sherlock was there. He was right there in his arms and John had a hard decision to make.

And then Sherlock pushed down and grabbed at his pants, pulling them away and then John’s. He spread his legs and lifted them around John’s middle. John’s hands traveled on their full length as he bent to kiss around Sherlock’s clavicle. The dancer locked his long, graceful legs behind John and the decision was absolutely taken out of his hands.

He pushed Sherlock’s shirt up and tried to get rid of his own when Sherlock patted his hands away. He helped, sliding his hands over John’s chest and pushing until he slid the offensive garment over John’s head and threw it away. It was all too good and too fast.

Before John knew what he was doing, his hands were on Sherlock’s waits, traveling over his body, one hand moving to the small of his back, down his bottom and pushing at his opening. Sherlock gasped and squirmed, both hands flying to John’s neck and holding tight. His thumbs brushed John’s face and he panted, smiling through hot breaths, “It burns.”

“Sorry, sorry,” John moved back and reached for the lube on the bedside table. He coated his fingers thoroughly and slipped his hand down Sherlock’s body once more, making sure that this time he didn’t miss something important to hurt Sherlock. He pushed in one finger and Sherlock whelped. He opened his legs, spreading them and propping his feet against the bed. John found a better access as he managed his balance easier and soon he had two fingers inside and Sherlock was crying out with every move in and out, every time deeper and better, and just before John pulled out for good, he brushed his prostate, pushing Sherlock to clench around his fingers and pull his knees back high around John’s middle.

It was amazing to feel the hot tightness, the idea of how it would feel to have Sherlock spread wide open for John, wet and clenched around him. He moved back slightly, adjusting his prick against Sherlock’s body and moving to sink himself deep. Sherlock stayed quiet. They didn’t need many words, only warm humid breaths and pants and their names occasionally painting the other’s lips.

John pushed lightly, drawing the most beautiful sound out of Sherlock. He pushed further then, another perfect sound filling the air between them before Sherlock pushed back against John and sank himself deeper on his prick, encouraging the captain to be bolder. Adrenaline hit, all his secret wishes coming to life before his eyes, and John snapped his hips, driving deep inside Sherlock. He sank to his balls, panting wet breaths, kissing madly at Sherlock’s shoulder.

It was burning hot and damn sexy having Sherlock Holmes spread open. John couldn’t stop watching, eyes wide and smile painting his face like madmen’s. He started moving, slow and careful at the start and then Sherlock cried out and snapped his hips, nails digging in John’s shoulders, pushing him to go harder.

It didn’t take long for John, having Sherlock wrapped around him, body contracting and pulling him closer to the edge with every trust. He wrapped a hand around Sherlock’s erection, guiding him, going in the rhythm of his hips. Soon Sherlock was panting harder, moaning John’s name in half breaths as he arched and spilled, body contracting around his lover and bringing him to the end shortly after the dancer.

John toppled over, falling with his head buried in Sherlock’s shoulder. Hot breaths heaving his chest as he slowly went back to reality.

“Amazing,” John huffed, breathing fast, turning to nose at Sherlock’s neck, kissing and rubbing his shoulder with his hand. “You are far too amazing to be real.”

Sherlock wriggled and smiled back, turning to place a kiss on John’s lips. “Once more?”

“No,” he managed to rumble, holding onto Sherlock’s waist and pulling him closer and pushing further at the same time. “Let me take care of you now and I’ll take you for lunch tomorrow,” he offered weakly, not knowing what was he really saying. “And if you still want me then, because I will want you, I’ve been waiting for you for so, so long, but if you are still… if you still want _me_ , I’ll give whatever you are willing to take from me.”

Sherlock huffed and pulled back. “You wanted me for long,” he smiled and licked his lips in an obscene gesture. “I’ve noticed.”

“I knew you would. I just hoped you’d be willing to give me a chance.”

Sherlock laughed this time and it was beautiful. John returned a smile and leaned forward once more. He kissed him, just because right now he could, he had Sherlock pinned right there, sat at his lap and willing to have him.

“Do you… do you like me then?” John brushed the hair out of Sherlock’s eyes and the boy grinned.

“Not a discussion for three in the morning, John Watson. Not after you saved me from a beating.”

“But do you?” John insisted.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I don’t kiss everyone. Actually I don’t kiss anyone.”

John sniggered, hands clenching harder in his clothes. “Thank you then,” he murmured. “Do you think we could… my god,” he laughed and shook his head. “This is our longest conversation since the first time you deduced me two weeks ago and the only thing on my mind is how to get you to be with me as much as possible.”

Soft pink rose of Sherlock’s cheeks, he ducked his head, all sheepish and nervous. “I’ve been waiting to see you ever since.”

Biting his lower lip, looking at John for underneath his long black lashes, he was a sinful sight and John had hard time breathing.

“You told me I was brilliant,” Sherlock murmured.

“You are,” John agreed with a smile. “I’ve heard you deduce other people a few times after that. It was so hot, you being so bloody smart and amazing.”

Sherlock kissed him then, just like that. He leaned down and their mouths were sealed together and moving in a perfect unison as John leaned back and Sherlock stalked over him. John’s hands clenched in his clothes and pushed him closer, pulling him flush against his chest, Sherlock’s squirm so subtle it stayed lost to John’s clouded senses.

His hand moved to Sherlock’s arse when he first noticed. Pushing Sherlock closer with every movement and trusting against him was brilliant and hot and Sherlock was so beautifully responsive. He made it too good and at first John didn’t really notice but then he pushed a little too hard, hand at Sherlock’s backside, the other pushing him flush against his chest.

Sherlock winced, slight and almost unnoticeable, but he winced and for a moment there his face contorted and his fingers clenched on John’s shoulders.

“You are hurting,” John mumbled and before Sherlock could argue, he pushed him on his back and climbed to kneel on the bed. He was going to argue but John beat him to it with stern, “Keep quiet, I’ll take my things and look you over.” And he had Sherlock lying there quiet and embarrassed. No chance in deceiving John again. “And I’ll give you some painkiller. They’ve beaten you up pretty bad.”

“I’ve had worse.”

John’s fists clenched and unclenched and he moved to touch Sherlock’s abdomen, a fine line of white skin peaking under his slightly pulled-up shirt. “They won’t touch you again,” he gritted his teeth, making a promise to himself to never let any of his team mates or their bloody friends come close to Sherlock again.

Sherlock shivered, asking “What are you going to do?” and it sounded cynical, he didn’t believe it possible and knowing how lonely Sherlock usually was, John wasn’t surprised he didn’t believe him.

“I’ll be your shadow if I have to. I’ll beat their heads up their arses. I’ll kick them off the team. Whatever I have to do, I’ll do. You are way too brilliant and even if you weren’t, no one deserves to be abused for what they love or want.”

Sherlock laughed and shook his head. “Amazing are the things one is willing to say when they want to get into your pants.”

“I don’t care that much for having my way with you, Sherlock. One hour ago I thought you’ll always be a dirty secret of mine. That didn’t stop me from saving you sorry ass.” He sounded a tad offended and Sherlock averted his eyes, shifting his legs when the position he was in became too painful. “Now I have you sprawled on my bed, so you never know, that’s what I’m trying to say. I don’t particularly care how much of you I get. No one is putting their finger on you again.”

Sherlock only hummed and stayed quiet while John looked him over and applied ice to his bruises. He had cleaned them both up before coming to care for Sherlock’s bruises. Given the painkiller, he took it, refusing to look John in the eyes and then, when the captain herded him to get undressed and under the covers, he looked up and blinked a few times.

“What is it?” John asked, ruffling through his clothes to find bottoms and shirt for Sherlock to sleep in.

“You’ll give me your clothes?” he asked, dumbstruck.

A frown worked its way on John’s face as he pulled what he was looking for and walked to Sherlock to give him the clothes. “Yes. Why not? You can’t sleep in this. This is your dancing gear, yeah?” And they had also just had sex. Very naked, very erotic sex.

Sherlock looked nervous for a moment. If he said ‘yes’ John would know they’d dragged him from the studio and get even angrier, but then if he said ‘no’ John would’ve probably known he was lying.

“Sherlock,” John touched his face with the back of his palm, rubbing lightly against a forming bruise. “Don’t be afraid of me. I’ll sleep on the floor if you prefer.”

“I have my own room, you know,” noted Sherlock, belatedly.

“Do you prefer to go there? I’ll walk you to it.” John really hoped for a negative answer. He wanted Sherlock close right now. All his protective senses holding onto him and biting at his mind not to leave the boy alone the same time that Sherlock fought his inner demons telling him not to overstay his welcome. Yes, John did come to help him and yes, he saved him but then they had already had sex. Sherlock didn’t really know if there was much more John needed him for now.

“No,” mumbled Sherlock, utterly embarrassed, keeping his head down as for John not to see how much he preferred being here with him than back to his room. He took the clothes and changed slowly. “And you can sleep in the bed. After tonight I don’t think it should be a problem.”

John sniggered and turned, having his back to Sherlock as not to inconvenience him while he was changing. “Are you sure you are okay?” he asked once the dancer was ready. They stood close again, John nervously sliding his hands over Sherlock’s arms. “I feel like I took advantage of you while you were still vulnerable. I don’t want you to think this is the matter.”

“I know it isn’t, don’t worry.” Clearing his throat, obviously debating his next move, Sherlock leaned down and John rushed, lifting himself on his toes, and kissed him. It was flurry of movement, evaporating all the nervousness and awkwardness and pulling them down on the bed.

John pulled the covers over them without separating his mouth off Sherlock’s and snuggled closer, pushing Sherlock into the mattress, a new hunger rising in him and making its presence known against Sherlock’s answering erection. He moved his hands lower, pushing the edge of the pajama bottoms lower, freeing Sherlock. The boy sucked a breath and as John’s hand found its way lower and around his prick, he moaned and arched his body, rubbing against John.

John kissed his mouth one more time before climbing down his body, peppering it with bites and kisses, and stopped on his pelvis, kissing Sherlock’s erection and sucking lightly. His hand helped his mouth but the other one he moved to Sherlock’s hand and let the boy entwine their fingers together, holding tight onto John’s safe grip.

“John,” he whimpered as the captain relentlessly sucked him, bringing him closer to the edge every time his mouth sank deeper and his tongue lavished at the hot skin. Sherlock’s hand clenched his harder, holding onto safety, urging John to move faster. His free hand hovered over John’s head, unsure of weather he should touch, to bury his fingers in his hair. John hummed around him, encouraging him to do it and Sherlock found his boldness, burring his fingers in the short blond strand, pushing deeper and faster until he spilled, letting John move away slightly, letting his release paint Sherlock’s tight and stomach.

The captain moved then, kissing Sherlock back to calmness as they lied there, together, panting and breathless. “That was…”

“Amazing,” Sherlock supplied and blushed, hiding his face in John’s neck. His hot breath against his skin making John shiver and involuntary rut against the soft skin of Sherlock’s tight. “I… how do you want me to…”

John sniggered but shook his head, “You don’t have to,” he said, brushing a hand through Sherlock’s hair. “I wanted for you to feel good. I didn’t do it so you can repay.”

“But I want to,” Sherlock mumbled against his neck. He moved his head so their eyes can meet properly and he smiled a wild, satisfied smile. “I’ve never done that before, I don’t know if I be any good at it.”

“I haven’t too,” John reassured and brought his hand to Sherlock’s mouth. “But you don’t have to right now.” Sherlock licked his lips, looking suspiciously at John’s hand. “Just lick,” John said, surprising a smile.

Sherlock’s tongue made a tentative appearance and he licked, slowly and first and then bolder. The feel of it made John shivered and his hips buckled again. The moved his hand low, urgently tugging at his erection, holding Sherlock close and kissing him senseless as he touched himself, worsening the mess over Sherlock’s tight when he spilled his release over him and laid down next to him.

“Just a moment,” he mumbled. “I’ll clean us up and we can go to…” But Sherlock beat him to it, getting up and wetting a flannel, cleaning them both up before throwing the flannel to the ground and climbing back under the covers.

John smiled pleasantly, winking at him and letting himself be kissed to sleepiness. He curled around the dancer, holding him close like the precious beautiful man he was. It was all perfect at least until the morning when he woke up to an empty bed and particularly late for practice.

* * *

Practice went as usual. Mike and Greg didn’t let him hear the end of it once they found out Sherlock had spent the night but thank god, they kept it private and didn’t let out for the rest of the team. John didn’t know how they’d react and he didn’t really know if Sherlock was ever going to speak to him again so it was kind of pointless to think about it too much. If Sherlock choose to stay away from him from now on, he was going to think of him every time he had a wank and possibly every time he pulled a girl. He didn’t need replaying the night before during practice as well.

Anderson and Cam showed up even later than him, both of them eerily quiet and not uttering a word all through the end when they tried to apologize. John didn’t want to hear a word of it, stating he was strongly against the team abusing other students and underlining how displeased he was with the image their attitude created towards the whole team. He mentioned the Headmaster and try-outs next year, making sure to engrave it well in their heads that abusing Sherlock, or anyone else for that matter, wasn’t going to be tolerated.

Thankfully the team stood behind him, only one or two other boys grumbling it wasn’t fair as Sherlock was a pain in the arse and he didn’t deserve being threatened lightly. Not a few people agreed but they decided abuse wasn’t to be tolerated no matter how annoying someone could get. John advised them to stay away from him and for the moment, things seemed okay. Anderson and Cam got a few extra kilometers running and then they were all free.

John knew it was too easy to put a stop on everything. Sherlock got beaten up for years and John wasn’t the first captain to forbid something to his team. They were too young and too wild to really listen. Yet, it was a first step.

He took and shower and changed, getting ready to go see Sherlock at the dance studio (knowing they had dragged him out yesterday was a strong motivator as well). He didn’t want him exposed to any unnecessary treats, knowing fully well that Anderson didn’t bit his job finished and he would probably find a way to finish what they had started the night before.

Rehearsals were finishing when he made it to the studio. He walked in quietly and sat at the benches for visitors, looking around to see Sherlock. He was at the far end of the saloon, watching the other dances swirl and squat. He hadn’t yet noticed John, although some of the girls did, smiling and waving and bending over quite suggestively, making sure he was definitely watching while they did.

John didn’t pay much attention and scanned around the studio, his eyes always returning to Sherlock, who was obviously distracted and even more obviously distressed as the Madame went to him and scolded him for not doing the exercise. He then said something and a cane hit him through the tights, the Madame instructing him louder to get to the exercise. Some of the other dancers stopped and turned and some smirked knowingly, coming closer to Sherlock, lips curling viciously as a redhead called, “Don’t push him, Madame, taking it up in the arse must hurt dancing.”

Everyone laughed and Sherlock threw daggers with the look he sent her but the girl didn’t seem to mind much. “Heard he was out on the grounds last night, four of the rugby team keeping him _company_.”

Madame gasped, clearly shocked as she looked Sherlock up and down, clearly noticing the love bites John had left and missing all the blue and black spots visible on his chin and arms. His ribs and legs took the worse of the beating but it couldn’t be seen through his dancing costume.

Sherlock didn’t say anything. He moved his head lower and tried to keep calm. He still hadn’t noticed John and he probably wouldn’t have at all if John didn’t choose that moment to intervene.

He jumped angrily, walking through the dance floor without a care he wasn’t wearing protection over his street shoes, and went straight for where Sherlock and the Madame were. “Hey!” He shouted and waved a finger. “They beat him up last night, okay! He didn’t do anything bad.” The moment he rumbled, Sherlock looked up, eyes wide and scared as he followed John’s angry steps and felt him come between him and his teacher. “He was abused!” He held his shoulders straight and chest forward in a protective manner, eager to show everyone in the studio that Sherlock was protected, that Sherlock was now looked after and no one could hurt him anymore.

The redhead girl snorted, muttering “Faggots,” under her breath but then the Madame turned with annoyed, “Miss Riley!” and then back to John, “Mr. Holmes is not a child. He has sharp enough mouth to protect himself here where you are not in fact allowed.”

John huffed, “Visitors are allowed,” he pointed.

“Friends and family,” added the teacher. “Not the rugby team. You only come here to ogle and catcall my girls.”

John let out the most charming, most ironic smile he could muster. “Well, rest assured, I don’t give a damn about your girls. I am waiting for Sherlock.”

Riley giggled and passed closer, saying to her friends loud enough for John to hear, “Told you he was taking it in the arse.”

“Sadly for the captain,” one of the other girls added, looking longingly at John. “I’d let him do whatever he wants to me.”

They laughed and stayed close, only to taunt John with their annoying conversation, explicitly explaining what they’d do to him if they got the chance and occasionally spitting their venom on Sherlock and some of the other dancers, still going around in their rehearsals. John stayed quiet, stoically listening through all Riley and her friends had to say to each other. He didn’t say anything when the obviously tried to provoke reactions from him and patiently waited for them to move along and get away when one of them came to him, crouching directly in front of him and after checking that the teachers was out of the studio, grabbing and opening his knees so she could lean closer.

“Hello, captain,” the girl purred and John raised an eyebrow, moving back from her and pushing his legs closed only for the girl to pull them open again. “Come on,” she continued and turned to see if Sherlock was watching. He had stopped his exercise, watching in the mirror as the event evolved.

“Move away,” John snarled and the girl giggled.

“What is it? You don’t like girls, hm?”

John huffed and smiled, “Not now,” he said and pushed her shoulders gently. “You are humiliating yourself, please.”

“Oh, and you are not?” She screeched between her teeth. “Sitting here like an idiot, ogling at Holmes. You get off on it, uh? Watching him bend his fucking arse in the air,” turning red with anger she stomped her foot and Riley giggled loud. “Fucking faggots,” she sank her nails into his leg and moved away angrily. “You don’t know how much you are missing!”

John ignored her pointedly. He played with his fingers, nervous as to all the attention he seemed to call to himself just by being there but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. He wanted to be close to Sherlock today and he also worried for Anderson and what he could do, finding Sherlock on his own again. And the girl was right, in a way. Watching Sherlock bend and move like that did turn him on awfully fast and hard. The only thing he could think of at some points was going where Sherlock was, pushing him hard against the mirror and putting his mouth to good use in the sound of Sherlock’s baritone.

It was that moment when Sherlock moved from where he exercised and came closer to John, pulling him out of his day dream. “You ready,” the captain asked, looking up at him and smiling softly.

“Almost,” Sherlock answered, distracted. “Why are you here, John? Don’t you have a social status to protect?”

John frowned. It didn’t feel very reassuring for the first words they exchanged after last night. He patted the space next to him and Sherlock sat down, his face scrunching in pain a little as he searched for a right angle.

“I am sorry,” John mumbled and reached for Sherlock’s hand but the boy moved away, looking around nervously. Most of the dancers were scattered and in the showers or the changing room but it didn’t feel any less scary.

“Don’t do that in public,” Sherlock scolded. “You still have a normal life. You don’t have to throw that away for me.”

“That’s not a decision for you to make. And being with you won’t be that much of a drama.” He reached and took Sherlock’s hand anyway, holding it to his lips and kissing his knuckles gently. “My teammates are not all like Anderson or Cam, okay. Greg and Mike, they know and they are happy for me.”

“They know what?” Sherlock looked skeptical. “That you had a little experiment.”

“That I am stupidly in to you and I would like it very much if I could have you for my own from now on.”

Sherlock blinked. Then licked his lips and blinked again, lowering his head a little and moving his chin back up. “You want a relationship?” John nodded, eliciting a laugh of Sherlock. “But you don’t know me.”

“I know enough, thank you very much,” John was not only smiling, he sounded happy. “Don’t look for excuses when we don’t need them.”

“What if I have another relationship then? You don’t know that.”

“Last night you told me you don’t kiss anyone. That’s a pretty telling sign that I am the only one for you right now.”

“You are the only one anyway, not just right now,” Sherlock mumbled to his nose and John beamed at him, leaning close to kiss his lips chastely.

“I am glad,” he assured him and nodded towards the vast studio, “are you done?”

Sherlock licked his lips nervously and shook his head. “Sorry, but not yet. I want to stay a bit late so I can catch up. Today wasn’t my best day.”

John hummed and nodded, “Sounds good to me. I like watching you anyway.”

Sherlock winked and moved away again, setting his own music on the player and continuing with his training as before, absolutely focused and into the routine. Only from time to time, he glanced to John, because John was just standing there and it was impossible not to look at him, and their eyes met and Sherlock smiled just for John to smile back and reassure him without a single word that it was fine. It was all fine until John was there.

After a couple more hours, Sherlock stopped his music, took a towel and walked to John. He was slumped and tired, all sweaty and as he came closer, John changed posture, opening his arms and tugging Sherlock in his lap when the dancer tried to sit beside him.

“I am disgusting,” Sherlock laughed, trying to move away, “All reeking and stinking.”

John shook his head, smiling, and nudged down to kiss Sherlock’s neck and shoulders, peppering little licks and bites and kisses and occasionally hot breaths against the glistening skin. Sherlock squirmed, pleading to take 5 minutes for a shower but John’s mouth proved quite unrelenting and he only clenched his arms hold stronger around Sherlock.

“You are just perfect,” he said after another whine and let his hand rove over Sherlock’s tight.

“Can’t we go back to your room for that?”

John looked up, eyes all innocent and light when he asked, “I kind of hoped to fuck you against that mirror,” he barely managed it with straight face and if he hadn’t started laughing he would’ve had longer time to savour the shock on Sherlock’s face. “I am joking,” he kissed his nose and shook his head, getting up, Sherlock safely wrapped around his waist and in his arms. “Can you take a shower there or you prefer it now?”

“Are you going to let me take a shower there?” he asked and John grinned, not really planning to let him take that shower.


End file.
